Dear Ricky
by Vampirekissesx908
Summary: After another custody argument over John, Amy says things that make Ricky move away to Boston. A year later, Amy has written him a total of thirty four letters and she has yet to receive a response from him.
1. Chapter 1

New story. It's kind of inspired by the movie and book, Dear John, because she's sending him letters and the title is called Dear Ricky. Lol. But different plot. This chapter is short, but it's just like a prologue. So let me know what you think.

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**Dear Ricky  
**

I had persistently written him thirty four letters in the past year, hoping that I would someday hear from him or get a response. But he had been gone for one year, three months, and seven days exactly, and I hadn't heard from him--not through mail, phone calls, or even e-mail.

The first letter was simply a letter telling him that he should come back to be in his son's life. I expected to hear back from him, but nothing came. Before ever sending letters, I tried calling him, but his number had apparently been cut off.

The second letter was merely another request saying that I would be okay with him seeing John whenever he wanted, and still I got nothing. I insisted that John needed him, and on the third letter I even added that I needed him.

I assumed that it took the mail a maximum of seven days to get to him because he moved to the other side of the country to Boston, Massachusetts. Why he would want to move out there I have no idea.

It was late night the day we had gotten into that fight. He came over to see John, as he usually did, but I was taking him out somewhere. Ricky had gotten joint custody at this time, but I was only taking him to my grandmother's house.

The argument lead to one thing and the next. I said so many things that I now regret–how I didn't need him and how John didn't need him and wasn't important to him. I guess that really got to his head so he decided to go to Boston. The last conversation we had was at the airport. I went down there and tried to stop him.

"Running away isn't solving anything," I had told him.

"No, it isn't," he told me, "but staying isn't either. You want me out of yours and John's life, then I'm gone." And then he left. Just like that. And I haven't heard from him since. At first I thought that maybe he was just taking a vacation, that he would come back, but no one takes vacations for over a year.

I did not get his new number, but I did, however, look up his address and write it down. I had looked in the phone book to see if I could find his name, but it wasn't listed, so he must have gotten a new cell phone number.

It had taken me two weeks before I decided to call him and three months before I decided to send the first letter.

My dad thought that it was ridiculous and sending all of these letters was pointless, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want John to grow up and ask where his father was, and it was just then when I knew Ricky wasn't coming back that I realized that.

I wrote letters more consistently now, sometimes writing every week. I started writing when I came home from school. It was my senior year and close to the end of the last semester. College was getting closer and closer every day and I didn't have enough money to pay for college and John.

My parents were helping out with the college fund, and they helped out with John, too, but without Ricky helping with the money it was difficult.

And I guess it was also the awkward stares I didn't like that I got from people every time someone would mention Ricky at school. Suddenly everything would get quiet and all eyes would be planted on me.

So today when I got home from school I decided I would write again.

My wooden desk was flooded with drafted letters that I had already written but just haven't sent, because I couldn't think of the right thing to say. They were all letters that were supposed to be number thirty five, but the words in them didn't mean anything.

But today the words flowed naturally in my head, and they were the words that I hadn't yet to put down on my paper.

So, "Dear Ricky," I wrote. "If you're reading this, I want you to come home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dear Ricky**

**Chapter two**

Today was Friday, and the whole state of California was being flooded with rain that'd been pouring since early this morning. It was early June, and I'd been out of college for two weeks. Three weeks ago was the last time I mailed Ricky; I knew what I wanted to say, but I guess I was waiting for him to answer.

But of course I knew he wasn't going to mail me back. I decided that after about the tenth letter. I just thought that something seemed off. It was hard for me to imagine that someone could send a person thirty five letters and not receive a single response, but I figured he was still pretty upset. I couldn't help but flashback to those final moments we had together.

"What are you doing?" he had asked after walking inside my room that night, finding me packing John's things.

"I'm going to my grandmother's," I'd told him. "We're just staying a few days, maybe a week."

I don't know why, but I was surprised to see that what I had said made him angry. "And you didn't even think to tell me about this until now? When exactly were you planning on telling me?"

"I was going to tell you when I got there." I couldn't believe how stupid I was. I had treated him so wrong; I treated everyone wrong.

"You can't do that," he said. "You can't take him away for a week. I won't let you. He's my son, too."

"Yes, but he's also my son, and I can take him wherever I want to. The whole point of you getting joint custody was the agreement that we both had equal custody of him. So I can take him wherever I want–"

"But I can't take him where I want," he cut me off.

"No, because John lives with me. We aren't married, so he stays with me and he can go anywhere with me when I want him to."

"No he can't."

"Yes, he can! I'm his mother and I do more for him than you ever do. It's just a week. He doesn't need you every day."

He shook his head. "I can't take this anymore."

He walked out of the room, and for some reason I put down the clothes I was holding and followed him. He made it to the door in the living room before I stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?" I yelled.

"I don't know," he yelled back to me. "Just know that I won't be here when you get back."

"What?"

"You heard me, Amy." And then he left.

But the more painful memory I had was the one where I followed him to the airport. I did end up going to my grandmother's, but I stayed for only two days because I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to do anything he would regret. We were right outside the airport, and it had been a stormy night, a lot like the one tonight. I followed him in my car and ran out before he could go inside.

"What do you want, Amy?" he shouted at me over the rain.

"You can't seriously be moving somewhere just because I took John to my grandmother's house!"

"It's more than that!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," he said, stepping closer to me. "You don't ever realize how you affect people. You never notice anything unless it's about yourself. You do whatever you want, and you don't care what other people think."

"That's not true."

"Yeah, it is. You're so freaking caught up in all your anger and regret and whatever else that you don't even pay attention to people around you. You're a lot better than you were before, I'll give you that. But it always has to be about you, Amy. You want everyone else to feel sorry for you and to do everything for you, but then you go and contradict yourself and treat everyone like shit! Who would want to feel sorry for you?"

I stared at him, unable to say anything. He grimaced and I chased him as he ran into the airport. "And what about you!" I screamed, the rain in my hair dripping all over the floor. Everyone turned around and stared at us yelling at each other, but I hadn't cared."You want me to trust you around John and think you're such a great father, and now you're moving! Running away isn't solving anything."

"No, it isn't," he told me, "but staying isn't either. You want me out of yours and John's life, then I'm gone." And I had just stood there as I watched him walk out of my life forever. For weeks after that I just told myself that he was going on vacation and he would come back, but I knew better than that.

I sighed as I came back to the present. John and I were sitting at the table in my apartment, the apartment I just recently moved to. I didn't want to move out of my parents' house, but I decided that it would best if I did. I finally acquired enough money for college, and I was going to begin the first semester after summer. I decided that I was just going to a college here in California, although I always wanted to go to Julliard.

There was an advertisement in the paper about colleges and universities, but they were all so much money. I couldn't afford to go to any of those places.

"What's that?" John suddenly asked, and I turned my attention away from the newspaper. And for the record, I didn't normally read the newspaper, but for some reason we were given it, and there was nothing else to do during this thunderstorm.

The television was on in the room. It was a small apartment; the only table, the one we were sitting in now, was in the living room halfway between the door and the couch. I grew to like my apartment, though, in only such a short time. It was nice being responsible, but at the same time it could feel like too much responsibility.

I looked at the TV to see what John was referring to, and I noticed the warning flashing across the screen. "It means there's a tornado warning," I explained.

His eyes filled with concern. "Is a tornado dangerous?"

"Yes," I said. "But it isn't in Los Angeles right now."

"A warning means it is already here," he said.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not always."

I went back to skimming over the newspaper, not really reading it, just looking at it. The truth is that my mind was somewhere else. The next article on the page was about a war prediction for next year, 2012.

I rolled my eyes, thinking about how they probably thought it would happen because of the worry of the world ending, but I didn't even bother reading it. I set it aside and turned to John. "John, don't you think you should go to sleep now?"

He shook his head frantically. I should have known better. He had a pathological fear of thunderstorms; I don't really think it was the thunderstorms, exactly, but just the noise. I sighed and stood up. "I'll be right back."

"No, Momma, don't leave!" he begged.

"I'll just be in the other room," I said calmly. "You're fine."

I walked into the bedroom and sat down at my desk. I couldn't put this off any longer; it made me anxious, although I was always anxious now. I put the piece of paper in front of me and began to write. Letter number thirty six.

_Dear Ricky, I've written you so much that I don't know if you even read these anymore. I know you probably don't want anything to do with me, but I've decided that I'm just going to tell you how things are going here. You would like to know about John, right?_

_Well, it's Friday, and I decided to write you tonight. Actually, it's four in the morning. I was going to write yesterday but I kept putting it off._

_Anyway, John would really love to see you. The other day he saw a man walking down the street and he called him Daddy. The guy turned around, and John was really upset to find out it wasn't you. _

_We're in the middle of an awful thunderstorm right now, and we're under a tornado warning, so John's too scared to sleep..._

_I really wish you would write back. And I know I haven't exactly said this to you ever...but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the fight and for taking John away for a week when I was sixteen and then again when I was seventeen and for making you think John didn't need you. Everything. I'm even sorry for the way I treated you when I was pregnant and after I had John._

_The truth is that John needs you probably even more than he needs me. John and I would both really like it if you would come back or at least call. He misses you. I miss you._

_-Amy_

And with little expectation, I sealed away the letter into an envelope before setting it back down on the table so I could mail it in the morning. And then I remembered something.

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_A/N_: Sorry it was kind of a short chapter, but the next chapter will be longer. :) I hope you liked it.  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Dear Ricky**

**Chapter Three  
**

Early that morning when the storms had finally settled, I walked to the mailbox and shoved in my letter. It was about a twenty second walk from the mailbox to my apartment, and once inside I went into my room and dialed a number on the phone.

As I waited for an answer, I wandered over to my closet door and looked at the calender. June 11, 2012.

I just remembered that my mom said she needed to talk to me. She had sounded as if it was critical that I talked to her immediately, but with the storms last night I'd forgotten. She answered on the third ring. "Hello?" There was no background noise, so I took that as a good sign.

"You needed to tell me something?" I said curiously.

"Yeah," she said. "But you need to come over here, Amy. I don't think you would want to know about this over the phone. George has all the paperwork with him now, so if you want to come see..."

"Paperwork?" I asked, puzzled, then I shook my head and didn't allow her to answer. I trusted her commentary that I wouldn't want to know about it over the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can get John to wake up."

My phone fit perfectly in the back pocket of my jeans, and I walked the notably short distance down the hallway that had the bathroom, my bedroom, and John's bedroom at the end of the hall. With a push on the door, it creaked open and as expected, I found John fast asleep in his white bed, the plain walls hugging in their surroundings, creating a very boring atmosphere.

John was unequivocally not fond of his room, but the apartment's didn't provide any bedrooms specifically designs for children. Multiple times I would tell him that, and he eventually accepted it.

I walked across the carpet, which was fairly spacious, and over to the window beside his bed. The light shone through and mesmerized, and I pulled the cerulean window curtain closed before calling to John to wake up.

Noticing that two bags of John's clothes were still sitting on the chair beside the wooden dresser, I remembered John significantly not wanting to put up his clothes, as if he wasn't expecting to stay here or didn't feel like he belonged here. When he first heard that we were moving out of my parents' house, I could tell the idea filled him with dismay.

I decided that if John felt more comfortable about having his clothes left out, then they should be that way. Only three years old, he was mature for the most part. The thought that maybe John was this way because he could feel he was losing memories of his father, but I let it pass, wanting no reflection of that now.

Letting John take his time, I made my way into my room and switched out my robe for a pair of tight jeans and a T-shirt. In the full body mirror beside my closet, the memory came thrashing back to me of where this shirt was from.

It was my band shirt from 2011, my senior year and the last year I was in the band. And this memory brought me back to _him_, of course. For some reason, I felt as if he would be a main topic during the little meeting with my mother.

I could already predict that one of the first things she would ask me was whether or not I'd been sending letters to him, and afterward she would probably try to convince me to give up. It bothered her and my dad both because they knew it hurt me after every letter when I didn't receive a response.

I had to face them sometime, I decided, and headed out of my room and down the hall. I got the car keys off the table, and John met me only seconds later, and we got in the car. John sat in the backseat while I drove, anxiously asking me questions.

Secretly, I knew why he was asking me questions. He was wondering where I was taking him...expecting me to take him to see his father. He didn't exactly know he was in Boston. I guess I didn't know for sure, either. He could live somewhere else by now; he'd been gone for one year and four months.

I sighed as we pulled into the driveway of my old house, and we walked to the front door, discovering that it was unlocked. My mom and dad were sitting on the couch, and it was no lie when my mother said they had paperwork. They had paper scattered all over the couch and on the coffee table.

I could tell already that this would be nothing for John to hear. "John, why don't you go wait in your old room so I can talk to them?"

"Okay," he said quietly with no protest and scurried down the hall.

I sat down on the couch opposite the couch and looked at my parents with curiosity. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Nothing," my dad said. "Nothing exactly, but maybe you should read this."

He handed me a piece of paper and I skimmed over it. The top lines read "Superior Court of California" with the date June 14, 2011 written on it. I racked my mind, trying to remember today's date after looking on the calender this morning: June 11, 2012. These were the papers that would have gone into affect had he stayed, I thought for a second.

But then I took a better look at them, and I handed the papers back to my dad after quickly reading over the statement.

I said nothing, and both of my parents stared, worried, at me. "I don't know how he did this," my mom said. "Or why."

My dad sighed and walked out of the room. I started to ask where he was going, but I had a lot of questions for my mom and changed my mind. "Ricky gave me full custody of John," I mumbled, monotonous. "I don't really know what to think of that."

"Maybe something happened, Amy," she said. "Maybe...maybe he had to give up his custody. It doesn't mean he's never coming back..." She trailed off. I was shaking my head to her before she had even finished speaking.

"You might be right," I mumbled, doubtful. "He really is upset..." I trailed off. I didn't say it out loud, but I worried that Ricky gave me custody because he had received all my letters and was fed up with them. At that time in June 2011, I'd sent him roughly three or four letters.

Those were the letters when I was still upset with him, I remembered, and the first two weren't particularly nice.

I assumed that because he didn't want anything to do with me, he didn't call, for he didn't want to speak to me at all. Taking away his custody was a sign. It was his way of telling me to leave him alone.

Had he come back to California to do this? I wondered. Or did he call the Court and transfer his custody over the phone? And we weren't even finding out about it until now, almost a year later. It's like he didn't want us to know and privately gave up his custody, so that didn't make sense.

I had to push back the tears as the thoughts came to me, and I quickly blocked them out of my mind, hoping it wasn't true. "He still hasn't written you back, has he, Amy?" she finally said after neither of said anything for a while.

I shook my head. "No." I predicted what was coming next, and I looked up at her, determined. "But I'm not giving up."

"You've just written so much," she said gently.

"I've written him thirty six letters," I said. "And I'm going to keep writing them. John needs a father. I didn't even realize how much he needs him.. I mean, it's really hard. I just want him to come back."

"You miss him, don't you, Amy?"

I hesitated. My parents had constantly enforced me to give up writing him, offered that I call the police to search for him, and even insisted I called him, instead. But I didn't have his number, and if he wouldn't write me I knew he certainly wouldn't talk to me, even over the phone. One thing my parents had never asked me before was if I had missed him. No one asked me, and hearing the question the first time somehow made me only more determined.

I looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah," I admitted.

Instead of saying the expected spiteful comment, she nodded in agreement. "So do I."

"John's beginning to forget him," I went on. "I thought I'd be okay with John only having one parent. I thought I wouldn't miss him...but I was wrong. It seems I'm always wrong when it comes to something about John, doesn't it?" I laughed furiously.

Denial lay in her eyes, but she didn't disagree with me. That meant something to me. "Where did you say he went?"

"Boston." I paused and suddenly had an idea. Who would possibly know more about Ricky than I would? I stood up. "I think I'm gonna go talk to Adrian. I will call you if I find out anything..."

She nodded and I quickly retrieved John from his old room, got in my car, and drove down the road, not even bothered by the sunlight pouring through the windshield. Six miles and four blocks later, I was pulling up to the small condo owned by Adrian and Grace after they moved in together upon entering college. Grace was only in her freshman year as was I, while Adrian was in her sophomore year.

Were Adrian and Grace close friends of mine? Certainly not. They'd actually grown more distant with me over the years, only because I wasn't really speaking to any of my old high school acquaintances. What was the point? I was sick of the drama that'd surged beginning freshman year and still not ending freshman year in college. But I was staying out of it.

I parked my car behind a red convertible, which I recognized to be Adrian's. Grace had her own car, and I was relieved to not find it in the driveway, that way I could speak to Adrian about this without anyone else being involved.

Honestly, whenever other people around Grace were involved with something she tended to get in the middle of it because she thought she could be some help. But she couldn't help with this, and even if she could I didn't want her to.

I walked across the gravel road, my shoes lightly kicking the rocks, and I stood beside the door and knocked. I exhaled, nervous of her seeing me the first time in several months. Would she shut the door in my face and tell me to go away, or would she look at me with contempt like the naive prude she'd always wished I was?

When she opened the door, I was surprised to find that neither were the case. Surprised, she stood there in the doorway and said curiously, "Hey, Amy."

It took me a few seconds to answer. "Hey, Adrian," I said, trying my best to keep calm. "Do you have a minute?"

"Um, sure," she said, holding the door open for me. I went inside and she shut the door. "What's up?"

I sighed. "I don't mean to get into your business or anything," I declared, "but when's the last time you've talked to Ricky?"

Her face lit up at the mention of his name. "Uh, about eight months ago, why?"

I nodded. "Eight months ago..." Then I furrowed my eyebrows. "Wait, eight months ago? How exactly did you talk to him?"

"I called him," she said. "I still call him, but he doesn't answer. Have you talked to him?"

"No," I answered immediately. "I have mailed him a lot, but he hasn't written back. Not once."

"How'd you get his address?"

"I just looked it up online," I admitted. "For some reason he was in the phone book already, as if he'd purposely put in his address. But his number wasn't listed, so I'm guessing he only has a cellphone, right?"

She nodded. "He got his number changed. That or he got a new cell phone, I wouldn't know."

"And he gave it to you?"

"Yeah," she said. "For some reason he didn't want to give it to me, but he eventually did before he left–"

"He already had the phone before he left?"

She nodded. "Like I said, I still call him, but it's weird because sometimes it says out of area or there's a busy signal, like he's blocking my call or something. I don't know. But he never answers anymore. You must have really made him mad."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Did you talk to him the day he left?"

"The night before," she replied.

"What'd he say?"

"Well, he came over here and said he was moving. I asked him why, but all he said was "I just need to leave." I asked him if I did something wrong and he said no, but then he said something about you--"

"He told you about the fight," I mumbled.

"Not really," she said. "He didn't directly tell me he was moving because of you, but he said you made him realize it was time for him to leave. I tried to get him to tell me what you did, but he wouldn't... I begged for him to stay but he left anyway." She paused. "You're not thinking of going after him, are you?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. I can't do that. Even if I wanted to follow the address I found, I couldn't. It was one of those post office box addresses, so it doesn't tell me the address to his house. So he must live in a hotel or apartment near there, but still, it'd be hard to find him."

"There can't be that many hotels or apartments around there," she said. "Are you sure it doesn't say his address?"

"I'm sure," I said.

"Then how do you know if he's even getting your letters? It could be a false address."

"I'm just assuming that he is," I said. "If it weren't a real address, the letters would be returned to me and they haven't been. I don't know if he reads them anymore. I've wrote a lot."

"And he hasn't answered even once?"

"Nope."

"How can you be sure though–"

I sighed. "Ricky gave me full custody of John four or five months after he left. I assume that it was a sign that he wasn't ever coming back and he wanted me to leave him alone," I said, wondering why I was telling her this but refused to tell my parent. Maybe it was because she was more connected to him than my parents were.

"He's probably tired of my letters and wanted to get the message across that he doesn't want anything to do with me," I went on, "so he gave me full custody instead of talking to me."

She looked at me in disbelief. "Ricky loves his son... I don't know how he could be that... _cold_."

"We really got in a horrible fight," I insisted. "I made him feel like John didn't need him, and Ricky believed me, I guess."

"Ricky must want to talk to us if he put his address in the phone book," Adrian said.

"I'm sure it was just for his family or whatever," I replied. "

"You know," Adrian said, "we could go find Ricky. I know you don't have the address to his house, but I bet we could find it. We could talk to his foster parents. I bet they know. Or we could just go to Boston anyway. It can't be that hard to find."

"I don't think his foster parents will tell us his address," I said. "Ricky probably told them not to tell me. And we can't go to Boston. It's a huge place and if we did somehow manage to find him, then what? When he sees us what would he do? It's been over a year. He'll probably call the police on me and have them haul me away–"

"Oh, that's harsh. He wouldn't. I know him."

"So do I."

"Not like I do," she insisted.

I sighed. "Still, I doubt we could ever find him. And if he doesn't answer the phone to you and he doesn't write me back, evidently he doesn't want to speak to either one of us. It seems that over a year is an awful long time to never talk to his son's mother–"

"And his girlfriend."

"–but that's just the way it is." I paused. "I should go, Adrian. Thanks for trying to help, really, I appreciate it."

She wasn't happy that I hadn't agreed to look for him, I could tell, but she nodded in agreement. She walked me to the door and said, "Listen, if you need anything, you can call me, okay?" In other words, if I found something about Ricky, call her.

"Sure," I said, nodding despite the fact that I was sure I wouldn't need her help. "Thanks."

I drove down the road, relieved that it was just John and me now, and oddly eager to get home to my small apartment. I collected all of my thoughts, the events of the day flashing through my head. John, who shouldn't be without a father at only four.

Ricky had given up his custody – I just couldn't get over that. It was as if a permanent picture of Ricky had been tattooed inside my head and every time I opened my eyes I saw him and the constant reminder that he would probably never come back.

I wondered where he was and what he was doing right now in this world: We were in the same world, I could count on that, and it should have been enough to comfort me, but it wasn't. As far as I was concerned, he could be working at his new job, even applying for a job the first time after moving, sitting in a coffee shop or in a diner eating dinner, sitting at his house, burning my letters, taking a walk, hooking up with a girl he'd just met. The possibilities were endless.

He could even have another child by now. Hell, he'd been gone over a year. It was possible he'd fallen in love with a girl upon moving there and gotten her pregnant and already had a baby with her. Maybe that was the reason he'd given up his custody. He'd moved on and found another family.

But subconsciously, something immediately turned me off from that theory. I truly didn't believe that he had another child, and although he gave up his custody, I knew that Ricky still loved John.

I drove down the road, passing the butcher shop as I always had to if I wanted to get home to my apartment six miles away. And then I just stopped, right there in the road. Cars behind me honked and drove around me, and I quickly got out of the middle of the road and turned off of the intersection and got into the driveway leading up to the butcher shop.

"Mommy, where are we going?" John inquired, wiggling around nervously in his seat in my mirror.

I slowly pulled down the drive, taking in the structure of the familiar building I'd once been to in a somewhat regular basis when dropping John off or picking him up. I quickly glanced behind me at John, his tired face not from the deprivation of sleep but from stress, I know, and I felt bad for hauling him around all day. "I'm just going to see your daddy's apartment for a minute, is that okay?"

His face instantly lit up as soon as his father became involved, finally going somewhere that he was interesting in. He didn't really like Adrian – he didn't really have anything against her, but John had always been a bit shy since he could talk around people he wasn't comfortable around. Adrian was one of those people. When she had spoke to him, she was nice to him, but they didn't exactly have many conversations.

I could see the question in John's eyes but the sadness in them because he knew his dad wasn't here, and he didn't bother asking because he was afraid it'd hurt too much. He'd always been that way – smart, and definitely older than his young age.

He followed close behind me as I made my way inside the glass door of the butcher shop, praying the door would be unlocked. I turned, and thankfully it budged, and we walked inside. At first glance, I saw no one and quickly led John upstairs before double-checking that no one else was here.

After climbing the stairs, I reached the door and slowly turned the knob, turning it completely until the door clicked and opened. I shouldn't have worried from the start. I knew Ricky normally hadn't ever locked his apartment; there was an alarm and if not used around correctly, it would trip. Only someone who knew the alarm was there could get around it.

I picked John up, not wanting him to get lost somehow – I knew he wouldn't have wandered off, but I wanted to hold him anyway – and he wrapped his small hands around my neck. I shut the door to the apartment and looked around: There was none of his furniture–only the refrigerator and couch that had already been here remained–I expected that much, but it shocked me anyway. He'd taken all of his furniture with him, no evidence left behind that he'd ever been here.

I walked to the refrigerator, opening it. Empty, of course. I looked at the empty counters, the too perfect carpet that didn't show any sign that someone had even walked across it at all. Above me, John sighed in defeat and rested his head down on my shoulder. I ran my hand through his hair and walked behind the couch, nothing there.

I walked down the short hallway to the only bedroom and started to push open the half-way closed door, but then I stopped, taking this as a sign of his existence. It was very, very vague and probably not even real evidence, but it was evidence that he'd been here. Evidence that he had existed and it wasn't just my imagination.

The door was half-way closed, as if he had walked out of the room and slung the door behind him in a hurry, not taking the time to close it completely or push it all the way open. Like I said, it was very small and probably just a false, silly assumption like many others of mine.

I pushed open the door then, walking into his small bedroom. The bed sat in the middle of the room as it always had, an end table on its right side, a window across the room. Besides that, it was empty. Nothing.

I walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, setting John down beside me. He opened his eyes as if he'd been asleep or trying to sleep and blinked them several times and squinted. His thick, tousled reddish-brown hair stuck up here and there in different directions, and he had a stain on his faded orange shirt, which was from a festival I took him to last year.

The shirt had faded over time from being washed, the white logo chipped off in parts. I smoothed out the covers, knowing I could be certainthat he'd been _here. _But I couldn't feel his existence. I could still imagine him in my head, see his features, but it surprised me that it was becoming blurry in my head.

I looked at the brown table that my knee reached, new dust spread along the top of it. I quickly blew the dust away, the particles scattering in the air, and John and I both coughed briefly until that, too, was gone with no trace it had ever been there.

I ran my hand down the table, reaching for the handle on the drawer and slowly pulling it out. More dust spread in the air as the drawer was only cracked, and I opened it half-way. And my hopes sunk even lower. There was nothing in there, I knew that, so why was I so disappointed?

I closed the drawer and sighed, pulling myself up on my feet. I grabbed John's hand, but he wouldn't budge. He stared intently down at the carpet, and I gazed at him in fascination. He glanced up at me with his innocent brown eyes and met mine for half a second, then he tilted his head back down and pointed down at the floor.

I looked down to find what had him so interested, and I saw the white edge of something sticking out from behind the red bedspread underneath the bed. I pulled it out and looked at the picture. It was of Ricky and John on his first birthday.

I sat back down on the bed and John leaned against my arm to get a better look at the picture. "Is that me?" he asked.

I nodded. "That's you. On your first birthday."

"And Daddy," he whispered.

"Do you remember him?"

"Some," he answered.

I nodded and we sat in silence for a minute, staring at the picture. I took in everything so I would remember it, and I realized that the image of Ricky I had in my head hadn't been cloe to accurate.

His feature had faded from memory until I was reminded, and it was like I was seeing him clearly for the first time all over again, his existence seeming miles and a lifetime away.

And in a way it was.

John looked up at me and asked quietly, "Momma, do you miss him?"

I glanced down at him, his eyes curious and sad. "Yes," I answered. "I do."

"Me too," he replied, and he had tears in his eyes. I pushed his hair back out of his face and I knew that although John faintly remembered his father, the memories were fading quickly. He was forgetting. I didn't want him to forget.

I took my purse off the bed and dug through it. Then I pulled out a piece of paper I had stuffed in there and handed it to John. "Here," I said with not much hope but did it anyway. "Why don't you write him?"

I handed him a pen and he smiled lightly and nodded. He was still in daycare, but he could read and write at three. I set the photo of Ricky between the small space separating John and me.

John took the pen and began to write, starting with "Dear Daddy." And by the consistency and the flash of hope I saw in John's eyes, although I doubted this would do any good, I knew John would write a whole page, front and back.

I had only done this because I thought maybe it'd help John remember, but for just a brief second, I almost had the slightest belief from seeing the determination through my son's eyes that maybe this would be effective. I knew better, but I couldn't help but wonder.

John had written a paragraph now, glancing every now and then down at the picture as if for inspiration. It almost felt like it was actually the three of us here: John, me, and his father. But the sense of emptiness overtook that feeling, because we only had a photograph.

_Dear Ricky,_ I thought, lightly touching the picture. _I wonder where you are right now. I wonder if you're happier where you are and if you think about us. Although a part of me wants you to be happy, another part of me wants you to be miserable just so you'll return, if only for a visit. Please don't ever forget. I don't want to forget, but more than anything, I want John to remember you._

_Dear Ricky, _I thought again, and then I whispered: "I think I'm in love with you."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I didn't calculate right so actually John is only three instead of four. Sorry about that.

Also sorry about all the Ben/Amy stuff in here. I don't ship this couple, so don't worry.. Please read this anyway and review. Enjoy! :)

_

**Dear Ricky**

**Chapter Four  
**

Today was June 15, Friday. That evening John and I walked into my apartment after daycare and work—I wasn't working at the daycare anymore; instead, because I needed more money, I was now a waitress. It didn't pay much more, but with the economy, getting a job was extremely hard.

I was especially thankful that all my classes in college were afternoon classes instead of night classes, so I wouldn't have to worry about getting a babysitter over to stay with John during the hours he didn't have daycare. I worried that my class hours would change, though, and I knew they would have to eventually.

I graduated high school in late April –seniors got out of school before everyone else– , and college, surprisingly, started this summer. It was much too early, and we even had the option of waiting until September, but we were also allowed to get into college early if we wanted to be ahead. I had nothing else to do, so I decided, why not?

I set my papers from college down on the table along with my keys and shut the door. John threw off his orange backpack onto the couch and hurried over to the table to sit with me. "Whatcha doing?" he asked.

"Work," I mumbled. "For school."

"I'm in school," he noted.

"Yeah, daycare," I mumbled, pulling out my work and studying over the material quickly. I couldn't comprehend any of it seeing as my mind wasn't here tonight. I read over it three times before I could finally catch on, and I was figuring out the math problems in my head, almost getting it, until two knocks came at the door and I completely lost my train of thought.

I groaned loudly, and John watched me with curious eyes as I got up from the table. He took off his jacket and let it fall beneath the chair. I slung open the door and was surprised to see Ben standing there. "Hi, Ben…," I said.

"Hey, Amy... Can I come in?"

"Um, yeah. I guess." I held open the door and shut it once he came inside.

"Hey, John," Ben said, and John just pursed his lips and stared at him. He didn't know Ben, couldn't really remember him since it'd been so long. My mind wandered for a moment as I remembered how Ben had always wished John was his son.

Now, I couldn't even imagine it.

John stood noisily up from his chair, the chair thudding against the floor as it scooted back, and John muttered mostly incoherently to himself, "I'll go to my room." And he marched off and I waited until I heard the sound of his door shutting.

"John's gotten so big," Ben said. "He's … three, right?"

"Yep." I sighed and sat down. Ben sat down in John's chair, opposite of me. "What'd you come over here for, Ben, really?"

It took him a while to answer, and then finally, he said softly, "I just missed you, Amy. And … well, I know it must be hard since—"

"Don't say it," I warned him. "Why is it that all you people can ever say is something about him? I don't want to hear it! I just don't want to hear it, ever, okay? I'm not upset that he's gone! I don't care at all! So what if John doesn't have a father? I'm fine being a single parent. I just don't _care_!" And as I said that, tears trickled down my face. I quickly wiped them away before he could see.

"Well, I also wanted to give you something," Ben said, and I furrowed my eyebrows, looking at the paper he held in his hand. He handed it to me, set some kind of small box that he was holding down on the table, and explained, "_This _would be an invitation to Alice and Henry's wedding."

"Alice and Henry are getting married?" I said, pulling at the corner of the envelope to open the invitation. My voice was calmer now, and I let go of my anger for just a moment, curiously unwrapping the paper. I opened it and read the invitation.

"_You are invited to Alice and Henry's wedding_," was written at the top of the card. "_Saturday, June 30, 2012."_ I stopped reading and set it down on the table. "That's only in two weeks. How long have they been planning this?"

"Not too long," he explained. "Maybe a month or two … Oh, and they wanted me to tell you that John, of course, is definitely invited too."

"Well, tell them thanks... and we'll be there..." I trailed off, looking down at the ground again, and I knew Ben and I connected then, and he knew immediately what I was feeling.

Tears had slipped again, and knowing that Ben had seen me cry, I wiped the tears away again and looked down at the floor. "You don't have to pretend you don't care, Amy," Ben said softly. I shook my head and stared back at up at him.

"Tell me why you're really here, Ben," I demanded. "Other than because you supposedly miss me and you wanted to give me this invitation. I can see it in your eyes that you want to say something else. What did you come here to say? Let's just cut to the chase."

He stared at me, and I wondered what he was thinking. "I just wanted to come here to support you. I know it must be really hard on you... And I really have missed you. We aren't going to the same college so I never see you."

"Is that all you wanted to say?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Also wanted to ask about John. I've done that already–"

"And you want to know if I'm going to find _him_," I said quietly, purposely avoiding saying his name.

"Excuse me?" he said. "I didn't … I didn't even know you were planning on it …"

"I'm not," I informed him. "I'm sorry. I just thought that's what you wanted. And it probably is. So the answer is no. I'm not going after him, because I won't be able to find him. You can go back to Adrian now–"

"Adrian?'

"Yep, you're like dating her, or whatever you're doing."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. And I never was. That was just one time, and we don't have to talk about that, okay? It was very wrong what I did . . . okay? Adrian thought, when she heard about you and Ricky kissing, that–"

"I'd never do something that low," I insisted, "like you did."

"Come on, Amy. I said I was sorry."

I met his eyes unwillingly. "I guess nothing good will come of me not forgiving you," I told him. "That was a while ago, anyway, so you're forgiven."

"Good," he said, "that's what I needed to hear." He smiled at me and said, "So, do you want to go out or something? Or I could go get some chicken wings and bring them here–"

"Maybe some other day," I told him gently. "Thank you, though, Ben. Ask me tomorrow, okay? Today I just need to be with my son."

He nodded and stood up. "Okay. Bye, Amy..." And he looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't, and I was relieved. I was afraid of falling for him again, and I didn't want that to happen now. Despite those feelings, though, I stood up and hugged him.

"Bye, Ben," I whispered, and he hugged me back before slowly walking to the door and leaving. I sat back at the table and stared at the wood, empty. I felt so, so empty...

Again, there was a knock at the door, and I wanted to groan out loud. "_Ben,_" I said, and then I opened the door and was surprised to see Grace standing there instead of Ben who I'd been expecting. "Oh... Hi, Grace."

She smiled. "Hi, Amy. I don't mean to barge in or anything. I saw Ben come this way, and I was thinking that maybe you needed all the friends you could get–"

"Yeah, Ben did come talk to me. I wasn't expecting anyone else … But come in." She came in and I shut the door.

"Adrian talked to me," she said, and I internally screamed. She was going to ask me about him, too; she didn't really come here because she thought I needed a friend. She came here because Adrian obviously asked her to.

"If she asked you to come over to try and talk me into going to find him with her... Then the answer is no. If I were to look for him, I'd go alone. But I'm not going, and we're not going. Okay?"

"That's seriously not what I was going to say," she insisted. "Definitely not. Adrian didn't ask me to–" She paused, and I knew by her expression that she was lying. She sighed. "Adrian just wanted me to come over here because she thought you needed some moral support."

"Moral support?"

"Yeah, I mean, everyone needs friends. Trust me. When you lose someone it's best to be surrounded by other people. I made the mistake by shutting people out when my dad died... And it only made things worse."

"But Ricky didn't die," I told her. "He's alive. At least I think he is. He just hates me."

"I doubt he hates you," she insisted. "Adrian told me about your little fight... Kind of intense."

"She doesn't know the full story," I said.

"Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to let you know that I think what you're doing is pretty amazing... supporting your son on your own. You kept on moving even though it was hard... but I just want you to know that you don't have to do it alone anymore because you have friends. You have me, you have Adrian, Ben..." She trailed off. "Jack, and all of us. We're all here for you.... And, well, you know, it couldn't hurt to go look for_ him_..."

"No," I said. "He doesn't want to see me. If I go there and somehow find him...he'll probably call the cops on me or something."

"I doubt that."

"Grace, I really appreciate that you came over here, but I know you only did because Adrian asked you to. I don't mean to be rude, but this really doesn't have anything to do with you and Adrian. It's only my business, so please... Stay out of it."

She nodded. "I'm sorry–" She stopped and then said, "If you ever need anyone to talk to, then I'm here, okay?" I nodded and she smiled as she left. I went into my small kitchen and went over to the drawer beside the refrigerator and I pulled out papers, then I went to sit down at the table.

I set the papers down and read over them since I hadn't fully read them yet. They were the custody papers—where Ricky had given me full custody. I read over the date about four times, trying to remember what I was doing on this day. June 14, 2011.

It was over a year ago. On a Tuesday. And then I remembered perfectly, of course. It was summer, and it was just a regular day. I was simply at my apartment, of course.

So if Ricky had come here to go to court then I could have seen him. I heard the door shut now, and John came back to sit at the table with me. "What are those papers?" he asked. "Did he write back–"

"No," I cut him off immediately. "I'm sorry... He hasn't answered yet, John. These are just court papers–"

"For what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Don't worry about it," I told him, but I had a feeling that he was worrying about it.

* * *

Late that night, around ten, when John was sitting on the couch in the living room watching cartoons, I was in the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dish washer. I walked out of the kitchen, with the intention of walking into the living room, but then I stopped and stared straight ahead.

The small brown box that Ben had set down earlier was still lying on the table beside the door. He'd forgotten to take it home. "What, Momma?" John said.

"Nothing," I mumbled, walking to the table and picking up the tiny box. The temptation to open it sang to me, and it lulled me, and eventually I found myself opening it. Inside, there were small little crystals, and I crinkled my eyebrows. What on earth was this?

It looked fairly valuable, whatever it was, and I knew he hadn't meant to leave it here. "John?" I called.

I looked over at him. He was hanging upside down on the couch, watching TV. "Yeah?"

"Would you mind going somewhere..."

He stood up excitedly. "Where?"

"Ben's house..." I trailed off. "I just need to give him something that he left earlier, and then we'll come back home, okay?"

He didn't say anything, but I could tell that he didn't want to. He walked towards the door so we could get in the car, and he pulled on his jacket that I hung up on the low part of the coat rack. I held his hand as we walked outside through the dark parking lot to get to my car. It was lightly misting rain outside, and the sky was cloudy.

John got in the backseat, and I groaned, the car not starting. I tried two more times, and it finally started, and I drove onto the road to get to Ben's house.

At eighteen, he was still living with his dad. The college he went to was close to his house, but he still lived at home, and I wanted to ask him why he didn't live in the dorms, but I hadn't had the chance. Maybe I would ask him when I got there, if I remembered.

When I arrived at his tall, three-story house, I pulled into the long driveway and raced through the now pouring rain with John. I rang the doorbell twice and waited. John stomped his feet in a puddle, where water had somehow managed to reach.

Only seconds later, the door opened and Ben stood there. "Amy?"

"Ben, hi." I smiled, pulling John out of the puddle. "Um, you left this at my house..." I handed him the small box. "It looked expensive, whatever it is, and I thought you'd want it back. I doubt you'll ever be back at my apartment, and yeah..."

"You didn't have to bring this to me," he said, laughing. "It's really nothing. Actually, just an accessory in my car that I took...not even sure why I brought that in with me. Do you want to come in?"

"Um, no. It's late. I don't want to bother you—"

"You're in no way bothering me. You and John come in," he said politely, holding the door open. "Although, my dad and Betty aren't home. They're out tonight."

I nodded and held John's hand and gently pulled him inside. I ran my hand through John's soaking wet hair, and then I pulled him into my arms and held him on my hip. "That was really nice of you to come so late just to bring me this little thing...," Ben mentioned, still holding the box in his hand. It fascinated me for some reason. The small crystals were so shiny, so bright...so expensive. And he'd acted as if it was nothing! As if it was worthless and priceless.

"It's no problem," I said.

Ben walked me into his fancy, high-ceiling living room and I sat down on his couch. I'd been here before, a while ago, a lifetime ago, but I hadn't been over at Ben's as much as he'd been over at my house. His house was so nice that I felt as if I didn't belong...

"I'll go get you a towel," Ben said to me and John, and he left the room.

"Do you like Ben?" John asked quietly.

"Yeah, I like Ben," I told him nonchalantly. "Do you?"

He shook his head. "Why not?" I asked. John shrugged his shoulders but didn't say anything.

Ben returned now with two towels and he handed them to John and me. I dried my hair off and clothes and helped John dry himself off, then I handed the towels back to Ben and he threw them on the floor. For some reason I laughed, imagining that he would have put them neatly away somewhere.

"You know, you could stay here tonight," Ben said. "It's already eleven o' clock. I didn't realize that... Past curfew..."

"Curfew only applies when you're under eighteen," I told him, smiling.

"Well, I know, but this storm is getting worse... You don't want to drive in that."

"Thanks, Ben, but seriously, we can't stay with you... Your dad and Betty wouldn't be happy about that whenever they get back. That would be wrong of us ... to barge in your house and then sleep over here. I can't."

"Of course you can," he said. "Like I said, my dad isn't home, and won't be tonight, and he won't ever know. He wouldn't care, anyway, probably. My dad likes you. You're like family, you know that, Amy..."

I wanted to protest, because I was certainly not like his family, but Ben was being nice and I didn't want to be rude. "Thank you, Ben..." I said. "But... I don't know–"

"We have a guest bedroom," he said immediately. "There's only a really small bed, and a couch, which I'd never make you sleep on. John can take that room, and you can sleep in my room... I'll sleep on the couch in my room, or in the living room, even. Or the floor..."

I looked at John, and he was frowning. I wasn't going to make John stay here. I wouldn't do that to him; he doesn't like Ben and he doesn't feel comfortable. "Um, I don't know..."

John looked up at me then and he nodded. "It's okay, Momma," he whispered.

"You sure?" I asked.

John nodded.

"Thanks, Ben," I told him, and Ben stood up again.

"Let me go make sure the air conditioner still works in that room...," he muttered to himself and walked off again.

"John, we don't have to stay here," I said once Ben disappeared around the corner.

"You like Ben," he said. "You wanna stay here. It's okay, Mommy. I don't mind it that bad."

I kissed my son's forehead and pulled him into my arms, standing up. John was usually asleep by nine thirty or ten on the weekends, and it was past eleven now...

I carried John down the wide hallway and in the room across from the bathroom, I found Ben there. My shoes brushed softly against the gray carpet, and I scoped around the room. A small, brown bed sat in the middle of the room, a decorative couch across from the bed, a dresser beside the closet that held three picture frames on it, and the walls were painted a tan color, but on the corners I saw a different color, as if it'd been poorly painted over.

Ben pulled back the covers and I put John into them, pulling the covers securely over him. "Is this okay?" I asked him quietly, and he nodded. I kissed him and he closed his eyes, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was already asleep.

There were two windows in the room, on each side of the bed, and I closed the elegant curtains so the darkness wouldn't pour in so prominently. Then I stopped to look at the pictures that were sitting on the dresser, and one was of a small boy, which I noticed to be Ben, and another was of Ben and his dad, and the last were of Ben, his father, and then a really beautiful woman that I didn't recognize.

"Ben, who is this in the picture?" I whispered.

He came to stand beside me and then sadly he said, "It was my mom." And then immediately I wondered if this had been her room, and that was why the walls had been painted, as if they didn't want to keep it the same, as if it hurt too much...

I looked at Ben sympathetically and didn't want to hurt him. Instead, I said, "She was so pretty."

He smiled. "Yeah..." And then he held my hand and we walked out of the room. I shut the door quietly. We headed down the hall and made our way past the living room and into his second hallway. This hallway was carpeted as well—the same gray color most of the carpets were in this house.

Picture frames hung on both sides of the walls, and doors were closed on the left and right of me. Like I mentioned, I'd been here several times, but still I wouldn't be able to tell you where to find something in this house or what rooms were what.

We then reached Ben's room, and I looked around. It looked _exactly_ the same, still. His walls were still a light greenish-brown color, his bedspread was a mixture of either purple or blue, and he still had that dentist chair in his room in front of the closet, and his computer desk was still across his room beside the window, and a couch was across the room as well.

"Nothing's changed," I noted, and Ben murmured in agreement.

"Yep," he said. "I guess I'm not much for change..."

"Why don't you live at the dorms?" I asked, remembering my question I had wondered earlier.

"Eh," he said. "I don't know. That's a really good question. I will probably move in soon, or get my own place... Betty and my dad don't want me hanging around here, I know." He paused. "Oh, so how's your family? Your parents...Ashley...how are they?"

"They haven't changed a bit," I said with a smirk. "Ashley's still with that Grant guy, and my parents are still not married."

"Mm," he mumbled. "And Ashley's...seventeen, right?"

"Right." Ben went over to his bed and fixed the covers, and then he walked away from the bed and started walking, either to his couch or to the living room, I didn't know, but I stopped him.

"Ben, I'm not going to take your bed from you," I told him.

"I don't mind," he said. "In the living room, the couch is a pull-out bed...unless you want me to sleep on the couch in here with you–"

"I will take the couch," I interrupted.

"No, really. I don't mind at all."

I sighed and went to sit down in the middle of his bed, but I wasn't ready to sleep. "Well, I'm not going to take your room, too. You can sleep on the couch in here, if you insist."

He nodded. "You sure?"

I smiled. "I'm eighteen. I can sleep in the same room as you. If you want.... you could sleep in your bed with me... I really feel awful about taking it..."

"Really?"

"Really," I assured him. He mumbled an _okay_ and I scooted over to the far left of the bed, Ben sitting beside me on the right. "I'm not really tired right now," I told him.

"Me neither," he agreed, but neither of us moved. I stared down at the bedspread, and I actually did feel exhaustion rush over me, but it wasn't from the deprivation of sleep, I'm sure of that. I could feel Ben staring at me, but he didn't say anything for a while.

But finally, he said gently, "Amy, what's it like?"

Slowly I looked up at him. "What's what like?" I asked, despite the fact that I was already sure of what he was asking me. I looked at my legs and how close Ben's hand was to touching my knee through my jeans...

"What's it like raising John by yourself? I mean... it must be really hard."

"It is," I admitted, not having the nerve to let myself be angry with him now. Over and over again, I kept asking myself the question _Why? Why was I mad at him, anyway?_ He'd done nothing to me. Had I taken my anger out on him because I knew he would sit right there and take it?

"My parents help me, too," I continued. "You have to remember that. They help out a lot, even with the money for college... But John and I manage, so I guess that's good."

"If you ever need anything, you know I'd help you," he said. "...Even if you just needed money."

"I'd never ask you for money. But I'll remember that. Thanks." And then I looked down again, but his eyes were still on me.

"Amy," he mumbled. "You don't have to be so brave..."

I met his eyes again but couldn't say anything. "It's okay to miss Ricky," he said, and hearing his name almost brought tears to my eyes. I was a desperate, love-sick puppy. I was a child with a crush, a crush that felt so real that it had to be love, because that was all the child knew how to feel. I was someone trying to love again, trying to feel _something_ again...

I was heart-broken, and I didn't even know why.

"I miss him, too," Ben went on. "He was my friend, Ricky was. And it upsets me too that he would just leave you and his son like that...how anyone could leave their child..."

"It was my fault," I said, and I was crying now. "I told Ricky we didn't need him. I told him John didn't need him and John would be happier if he didn't have a father. That night when I heard Ricky was getting on a plane and he was leaving, I was at my grandmother's.

I left just in time to catch him at the airport. And I didn't go because I wanted to stop him from leaving. No. I remember then that I really didn't care." My voice cracked. "I just wanted to argue with him. I wanted my way, I wanted an agreement. I wanted him to admit I was right. But I wasn't right. Ricky was right. He was such a wonderful father and tried really hard, and I was a terrible, terrible, selfish person..."

I couldn't believe that I was saying this to Ben. I didn't know what had brought this on... Maybe it was Ben's calmness and gentleness, and how he spoke his words carefully not to hurt me... Before I knew it, Ben's arms were wrapped around me for comfort, and he held me and shushed me.

"It's okay, Amy," he whispered. "Everything will be fine..." As he said this, I had flashbacks of hugging him a long time ago, flashbacks of when he would hug me before and tell me everything would be okay when I was pregnant. But that was an entirely different situation, and things would not be alright now.

And then Ben kissed my forehead, and then quickly kissed me on the lips, but I didn't stop. I kissed him again as he held me in his arms while I cried, until we were taking our clothes off and things got too far. I knew I was just trying to hold on to that moment where I felt like things might be okay, but really I was just trying to escape the pain, if only for a little while.

* * *

Early in the morning when I woke up, it was still dark outside. I searched quietly for my phone and found it had gotten knocked down on the floor. I picked it up, and I looked at the time: five-thirty. I touched my eye and felt tears and my mascara was smeared.

As I quietly got dressed and sneaked out of the door before grabbing John and quickly leaving before any questions could be asked, I looked at Ben sleeping beside me and tried desperately to change my thoughts, to change my feelings.

But somehow, I couldn't make myself feel something more for Ben. There was a part of me, however, that loved Ben deeply and wanted his comfort, but another part of me, the more significant part, mumbled these words, "_Dear Ricky, although it was Ben who made love to me last night, to me it had been you...All along, it had been you, whether I'd known it or not."_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Just a heads up so none of you will be expecting this. Amy will not be pregnant by Ben. That was never my intention at all so don't worry about that. Like I said before the previous chapter, I do not ship this couple so no way am I going to write a Ben/Amy baby. :) Enjoy.

* * *

**Dear Ricky**

**Chapter Five**

John was dressed in a suit and a tuxedo, which he was not fond of at all. It was June 30, Saturday afternoon, and today was Henry and Alice's wedding. This morning, Ben had called me twice but I couldn't bring myself to answer the phone.

I would suffer through the wedding, I decided, but I wouldn't look at Ben, wouldn't talk to him. I was not ready for a relationship, with him anyway. I did love him in a way, but it didn't feel right.

I hadn't planned mine and Ben's first time to have happened like that—I didn't think it'd happen at all. We were protected so I wasn't worried, but I felt like we did it for all the wrong reasons. I was upset, that wasn't a good reason, and if I hadn't been then I wouldn't have done it.

But I wouldn't yell at him about it or despise him, because it was mostly my fault. I pressed it on, I deepened the kiss, I started it. It was my fault and my responsibility.

Letting the thought drop for now, I listlessly fluffed my dress. The dress was a deep sapphire blue that swept just below my knees. It was fitted tightly around my chest and waist and fell loosely in ruffles around my knees.

I scanned John's suit as he stood beside me in front of the mirror, pulling at the loose sleeves. They were too long for him and exceeded almost four inches past his wrists. His usually tousled bronze hair was moussed back into spikes all over his head, and he had on some _I Am King_ cologne by Sean John that smelled like tangerines and berries.

I knew letting him wear cologne was a mistake, but it was only one day.

Alice and Henry were the ones who suggested that he be the ring bearer since they didn't really know any other children. No one else encouraged the idea since he was only three, but I knew John would be able to perform his part.

"Who are Alice and Henry?" John asked suddenly, his arms resting stiffly at his sides. He peered up at me in the mirror.

I ran a hand through my hair; I didn't straighten it this morning. Instead, I left it curly and used the curling iron to smooth out my hair. "Um, they went to high school with me ... Ben's friends."

He nodded. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"Why did we leave so early when we spent the night with him?"

I was quiet for a moment, but as he continued to stare up at me, I knew I had to tell him something. Even if it was a lie. "Because we needed to get home. That's all."

"Oh. I thought maybe you were mad at him or something."

Of course a three year old would jump to that conclusion, but it was nothing that I would explain to him or to anyone for that matter.

Saying nothing, I took John's small hand into mine and together we walked out of my room on our way to the wedding. The whole drive there, I was apprehensive considering the things to come, and I couldn't shake off the feeling, where I felt a hole in my heart and a sudden dreadful emptiness overtaking me.

* *

Alice and Henry's wedding was at _The Albertson Wedding Chapel_ in Los Angeles. To me, as John and I were slowly walking through the entrance of the chapel, it was all a bit over-rated. Of course, that could very well be because when I had attempted to get married illegally, it wasn't actually in a nice chapel.

Everywhere I looked I saw white; the walls were white, the floors, the ceiling. But it was nice, I had to admit. I went to take my seat near the middle of the row while John got ready to carry the rings down the isle.

On either side of me sat two strangers whom I'd never seen before. Grace and Jack were in front of me with Grace's mother and Jack's parents, and I didn't bother to look behind me. In my peripheral vision I could see Ben directly behind me, and he was staring at me. But I would not let myself turn around.

The entire time I was much too distracted, even if no one but me could tell. John came out and did fine as the ring bearer, and he went to stand beside the maid of honor. The preacher read his speech, and Alice and Henry said their vows and they both said, "I do," when it came to be their turn.

Then the husband kissed the bride all the way into the after party, and I couldn't help and wonder if the way I was staring at them was envious or angry, and I knew it was most likely both. But the only thing I had to be angry with was myself. Everything else was out of my control.

* *

Henry and Alice had their dance on the main floor, and afterward the wedding reception followed immediately, and everyone was also either dancing or talking with friends. The light music circulated around the room, creating a serene and joyous atmosphere.

I stood in the corner near a few people, not in the mood to dance. Over half of the people I recognized, but still the crowd felt as if most of the people were strangers. All of our friends from high school were here, but I didn't bother speaking to them now.

Ben pushed through the dancing crowd now, his eyes on me, and I prayed that he was looking at someone else. Of course things usually didn't turn out the way I wanted them to, though. "Hi, Amy," he said cautiously, walking up to me and leaving a few feet between us.

"Hi," I mumbled quickly and looked away. I didn't want to talk to him now. I needed to go find John, wherever he was. I assumed he was with the maid of honor, changing out of his suit, maybe. Or perhaps he was dancing, but I doubted that he was talking to anyone since he usually didn't associate with strangers.

John was a shy kid, especially around a large crowd of people he didn't know. He was almost afraid to be alone with a large group of strangers—and I worried if it was because his father wasn't around—but before the wedding John had gotten to know Henry and actually seemed to like him.

The maid of honor was Henry's distant cousin, Allen, who looked almost identical to him in a way, only he was about a foot taller than Henry and a lot more muscular. His hair was slightly moused and longer than Henry's, reaching the nape of his neck.

He looked about twenty one, and later I found out that he was a college student in his senior year. Also, Allen almost looked American, while Henry was not. He did look partially Korean, but I figured his parents were American and Korean.

"Can we talk?" Ben asked after he stood there staring at me for a while as my mind was wandering. Around us people were dancing and the mood was still light, but inside this bubble that contained Ben and me the mood was heavy, but everyone else was oblivious.

"We are talking," I said matter-of-factly.

He sighed, moving his hand away from behind his back to touch my arm. I recoiled, and disappointment spread across his face. "You're not mad, are you—"

"No," I lied, still not meeting his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, not convinced. "I mean...I'm not really sorry, but I am sorry if I hurt you or–"

"No, that's not it, Ben. You didn't hurt me."

His brows pulled tightly together. "Then...what?"

I looked at him, my eyes hardening. He really didn't understand why I was upset, and for some reason that was what hurt me. "It was wrong, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"It. Was. Wrong," I said slowly. "I was upset...and I let things go too far. John was on the other side of the house, which makes it all the worse, and it was just wrong. I had to lie to him this morning when he asked me why we left so early. I told him I wasn't mad at you, because somehow he knew I was—"

"Why _did_ you leave early?" he interrupted, apparently only hearing the last part and skipping over the part about it being wrong.

"I just told you," I muttered.

"Why was it wrong?" I could see him beginning to get angry, but he didn't let it overtake him. He calmed himself down and said gently, "Amy, I love you." I said nothing but continued to give him the death glare, hoping that at any moment he might melt and disappear. "I love you," he tried again, searching my eyes.

I grimaced. "What do you want me to say? That I love you too?"

I was truly hurting him, and I didn't want to do that. But I didn't want to hurt either. I was tired of this feeling, but I knew it wasn't going to go away on its own. I also knew, somewhere, that Ben wanted to help me through this. I just wasn't ready. "Yes. That is what I want you to say. Why won't you?"

I started to turn around and walk off, not wanting to deal with this anymore. I just wanted to forget about it. I wanted to forget completely what had happened and all that I had said to him. I deeply regretted letting myself fall for him again, but it wasn't the same. It would never be like it was, and I still knew that I wasn't ready for a relationship with him.

I had barely taken a step when I froze, hearing Ben mumble something quietly but furiously, with my back turned towards him, "Because you wished it was Ricky."

Hearing his name made my heart stop and beat unsteadily in my chest. It hurt now for me to even hear his name, and hearing it with that tone of bitterness made it hurt that much more.

"Don't go there, Ben," I grumbled, turning around quickly to grimace at him.

He shook his head. "When you looked at me...you were seeing him. When you kissed me, you were kissing him... All I want to know is why–"

"Why did you let it go on so far, then?" I ignored his question.

"Because I loved you. I mean, I still do," he corrected himself. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"'Cause I am," I muttered, walking off now, and not looking back. I found John with Allen and told him that we were leaving now. Allen asked me if everything was okay and if I was sure I didn't want to stay for the rest of the reception, but I told him that everything was fine and I needed to get John home.

John didn't want to leave, and I admit that I felt bad for leaving so abruptly after John had finally found himself a new friend that he felt comfortable around. Allen talked to John like he was his little brother or son, even, and the respect he had for him made me want to thank Allen, but I was too eager to leave in spite of Ben.

Allen mentioned to me that he had wanted to introduce John to his brothers before going back to Korea, and I said that would be fine but when? He told me tonight and he gave me the address to follow, but I told him it was late and John would be tired.

He said John could spend the night, and when he told me Henry and Alice would be with them visiting before he headed home to Korea for a while, I felt better that some people I knew would be with him and I agreed. I mean, how often did I have away from John?

Of course I loved him, but it wasn't very often that I was without him.

"Allen said that he's going home to Korea," John began his long story as I was driving down the road. I had the piece of paper with the directions by my side and a map that I had to so conveniently buy after trying to get to the house the first time. I wasn't very familiar with all the roads in Los Angeles, which was sad but true.

Outside the windows completely darkness surrounded us, and the dreary night closed in on us. "And he's gonna bring pictures back! Mommy, I want to go to Korea."

"I don't think so," I said, and he didn't protest.

"He said he has six brothers," John continued, and he spoke so quickly that it would be incoherent if I wasn't used to his talking. "He told me all their names but I can't remember all of them and he said he might introduce them to me sometimes and that one of them is seven years old and in the first grade." He spoke his words with no pause.

"How come I don't have a brother?" John asked then, and his voice was serious now. He noticed how I paused, and his eyes deepened with worry. "Or a sister?" he continued, as if he thought he'd offended me.

My heart thudded. "You just don't," I choked out, and with that I continued down the road. I followed the address that Allen had given me to his house, and I gawked when we got there. The house stood three stories high, a nice balcony on the second story, and there was a long paved driveway surrounded by a lake that led to his house.

Flowers were planted along side the lake, and it was all very neat and expensive. It made me dread our small little apartment. It took at least a minute to drive down the pavement and reach the house, and then John and I walked up to the door.

He leaned up on his tiptoes to ring the doorbell, and Alice answered the door and I dropped John off. I still didn't feel too right about this but I knew Alice and Henry would watch John. They promised me that they would before I left, and I told them I'd be there early in the morning.

Allen offered to take him home, but I said I would. I didn't feel comfortable having John ride in a car with a stranger.

The ten minute car ride was dreadful without John, and I drove faster as if I could avoid the silence better that way. Alone, I reached my apartment and walked inside the door. This was the first time living in my apartment that I'd been without John for a whole night.

The phone rang before I had the chance to do anything, and I ran to the kitchen to grab it. "Hello?"

"Hi, Amy," said a deep voice. "This is Allen. I just wanted to know if everything was okay with you... You left in a hurry at the reception."

I wasn't expecting him to call. "Everything's fine. I guess I'm just going through a lot right now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I know it's really none of my business since we just met. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I could tell by the look in your eyes that you were going through something, and I also know that you support John by yourself."

I sighed silently at that, but when he continued, I realized that he wasn't going to ask about that and he was truly polite about the whole thing. He spoke with respect, the same respect he had shown with John. "I thought that maybe I would help make it easier on you for one night. John's a great kid.

And I promise that he'll be fine here. Henry's making him dinner now; he says he hasn't eaten much at the wedding." He laughed lightly. "I feel bad though since now you're alone because I've taken John from you. I should have offered you come too—"

"It's okay," I said. "John likes you."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I just wanted to check in on you. I think I should go now, though, and help with dinner... John seems to like my daughter."

"You have a daughter?"

"Yeah. Crissy. She's two."

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Well thank you."

"Bye, Amy." We both hung up, and I turned around to my seemingly empty apartment. I sat down on the couch for a few minutes, studying for college. My major was in music and I had to take a year of math, History, English, and political science.

After studying for only fifteen minutes, I sighed and set my books down beside me on the couch. I thought about checking in with John, but it'd only been a half hour, and I didn't have any intention on being annoying.

The doorbell pulled me out of my mental state, and I walked to the door to see who it was.

I should have already been expecting this. "Hello, Adrian."

"Hi, Amy," she said with an obviously fake smile. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," I replied, stepping out of the way to let her in. I sat down at the small table beside the door, and she sat down across from me.

I looked down at my hands in my lap and didn't offer her any news about him. If she wanted to know, she could ask. I didn't like how she expected me to automatically tell her, as if that was the only reason she had to talk to me. Of course it was, though. It'd always been impossible for us to be friends.

"That's good," she finally mumbled her reply, trying to get something out of me. "So, how's John?" She looked at me with all seriousness, not the annoyed look she used to give me. Because now the one person who got in the way of our being friends was gone...

But John was still the result, and I know that would always bother her.

"John is fine," I told her suspiciously.

"Um, so have you...written any letters lately?"

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn't want her to see my annoyance. "Not particularly, Adrian. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering." She sighed. "I mean, I was just wondering if you've heard anything from him... It's been some time since I've last talked to you, so I didn't know..."

"No, I haven't heard anything from him. He doesn't reply, and I haven't written in...um, only two weeks ago, actually." I was surprised that it'd only been that long.

"Why?"

"I haven't had much to say," I noted.

She pressed on, speaking slowly: "And why is that?"

I sighed. _Dear Ricky, I want to slap your ex-girlfriend. _"I don't know. Maybe because I live in an apartment with my three year old child. What would I have to write about?"

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "I don't know," she mumbled sarcastically. "Tell him about John!"

"This isn't any of your business, Adrian," I said. "So quit trying to make it your business." I was angry now. I was tired of her trying to get into this situation and getting her friends into it as well. "I know you sent Grace to my house a while ago to ask about him, but I'm not stupid. I know what you were trying to do, and I do now as well."

I started to stand up to hold the door open for her to leave, but Adrian stopped me. "Amy, wait." I sighed under my breath and plopped back down in the chair, grimacing. And the fact simply was that I actually was not angry with Adrian. Only subconsciously would I admit that I was only angry because it hurt to talk about him.

"What?"

"Look, as you may or not know my mother is a flight attendant. Which means that she flies all over the country. So she practically flies to Boston several times a year. She can get us on a plane, and we can go looking for him. She can even help us pay for the plane—"

"I don't need help paying for anything," I snapped. "I already said no. I don't need anyone helping me get on a plane. If I wanted to get on a plane I'd book a flight over the internet or phone or something and I'd get on the plane and go looking for him alone. Don't worry, though, because I am not going to do that. I'm not going to embarrass myself like that. He made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me. And as I already told you, we won't be able to find him. So please stop harassing me about it."

"And what if I told you that I'm going alone to look for him?"

That struck a nerve. "Then I'd say woo-hoo for you. Go after him yourself! Go find your ex-boyfriend and talk about how awful I am and how awful my son is to my son's father who left him! Go have sex with him like you used to and move in with him and fall in love all over again, as if that actually happens, and just drone on and on about me and my son's awfulness! Go do it. See if I care."

I could feel her staring at me, but I stared at the floor with my teeth clenched together. I heard a sharp sigh from her. "You're being really immature. What is your problem?"

I sighed, but I knew she was right about me being immature. "My problem is that I just want to forget about it. My problem is that I don't care what you do. I'm just warning you that you won't find him if you go looking. I know you won't. Unless he wants to see you. And I guess he probably does since he answered the phone to you but can't even answer my letters." I felt like I was on the verge of tears.

"He only answered once, Amy. A while ago. I've tried calling him hundreds of times after that and he didn't pick up because either the phone had been disconnected or it was off. It's not just you he's mad at. He's mad at me, too. I don't know why, but I guess he wants to move on, but he loves me and I want to go find him. Maybe he wants both of us to go find him. Maybe that's why he hasn't answered, because he's so angry and wants us to go find him!"

"No. That's not it. He gave me full custody, remember? He wants me out of his life."

"Well, maybe he wants you out of his life, but he does _not_ want me out of his life," she said, sassy. I just stared at her and she shook her head like she was afraid she'd infuriated me. "Look, he can't want you out his life. You're his first child's mother. And..." She swallowed as if the next words pained her. "...And I think on some non-physical, platonic level Ricky loves you. And he loves his son. He's just upset and confused."

"Yeah, I doubt it. I bet he's happy wherever he is and he's having a lot of fun. Now nothing's holding him back. He's not tied down with a son at nineteen. He's happy. I know he is."

"If I do go to Boston with my mom, say, next week when she leaves for flight, would you answer the phone if I called you?"

"Why would you call?"

"To tell you if I've found Ricky or not... And well, I need the address if I'm gonna go..."

"I told you I don't have his address. It's just a post office box address at the post office. He probably lives miles away from it."

"Would you please tell me that?"

I shook my head slowly, trying to keep the tears back. I don't know why, but I really just didn't want her to go. I'd feel isolated if she were to go, and though she offered for me to come too, something inside me just wasn't okay with that idea.

"Come on, Amy. If I find him, I'll tell him you've really been wanting to talk to him. I won't stay. I'll come right back and maybe bring him with me. And then you'll have him back in John's life. So there. I won't make him be involved with me unless he wants to." She smirked. "And I know him. He wants to."

I rolled my eyes, getting ready to kick her out. "You're not going to go to Boston if it's for me," I said firmly. "You're going for you, Adrian."

"I'd be going for both of us. I want to see him again, and he's pissed off at me so he doesn't want to be with me right now, obviously. I just want to find him, that's all... Okay? Can you please give me the address?"

"For the last time it's not an address!" I exploded, and she stared at me like I was crazy. "No. I said no. I'm not giving it to you. Go to Boston yourself and find him without an address, because you're going to do whatever you want anyway—"

"I won't be able to find him without the address!" she yelled back at me.

"Yeah, and I don't have the address to his house or apartment!" I paused. "Weren't you the one who already said that it wouldn't be that hard to find him? Ugh. You're a hypocrite, Adrian. Get out of my apartment."

I didn't want to yell at her, and I hadn't planned on blowing up like that. But this was an extremely sensitive subject for me to talk about with anyone. Adrian stood up from the chair, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Just never have him back in John's life. That's your problem, not mine. Bye, Amy."

I felt bad now, and I'm not sure why. "Adrian—"

She slammed the door on her way out; and now I was officially alone again. The rest of the night was also painful to suffer through, so I tried to keep myself busy.

I ate dinner alone, walked mindlessly around the house for a while, looked at my emails on my laptop, and when nothing seemed to make me feel better I actually got out my french horn from my closet and played it. It was pathetic, I know, that I couldn't be away from John for a few hours without feeling lost.

But in my defense, I wasn't used to being _this _alone, although truthfully I _was_ alone. More than ever. The hole in my heart was still there, and even though I thought maybe Ben could help my heart heal, it actually only made the hole that much more significant.

When it came down to nothing, I wanted so badly to get all my feelings out to someone, and I was sitting on my bed sulking with the french horn beside me and staring across the room at the wall. I found myself walking to my desk and pulling out a piece of paper and pen from the drawer, feeling oddly as if this was the right time to write.

It'd been only two weeks since I wrote a letter, and it actually made me feel better when I did write. Not because it made me feel hopeful that he'd answer, but because it gave me the slightest hope that maybe he was reading my letters and that they meant something to him.

Letter number thirty eight.

Slowly I wrote, _Dear Ricky,_

I did something the other day that I seriously regret, but I think it'd be wrong of me to tell you what I did. Although I regret it, a part of me tells me to keep going and not to give up... You know? Like, when you lose everything, and then you finally get one good part of your life back.

_Then you just throw it away, and you feel like you can't do that because it hurts so bad. You start to feel something again, but it doesn't feel right, but you don't want to give it up. And all at the same time I do want to give up._

_I know you may not have any idea what I mean, and I probably don't know too much myself. Every time I think of you I imagine that you're living such a more productive life than I am._

_I know sending this letter to you is pointless, but I hope you at least read these even if you don't respond..._

_Did you get John's letter? You should have. I never did read it myself, but I did have to help him with his writing a couple of times afterward, so if you see a lot of eraser markings you know why._

_... You know, you'd think that you'd answer your three year old son. What do I know, though? Maybe you're too busy. Maybe you actually have a life unlike me, or a job that occupies all of your time. Anyway, I bet you're amazed he can already write._

_Or maybe you're not. _

_I just wanted to get my feelings out, just wanted to rant to someone about my issues...even if you aren't reading these anymore. _

_Anyway, so I'm working at a restaurant as a waitress now. I'm not really liking the job, but it's more money than I made at the daycare. Maybe I'll even try to get that job back so I can work two jobs. It's hard to support John, but that's not me asking you to send child support.  
__  
I still wonder what you're doing right now. Knowing that you're out there somewhere comforts me. If you knew what I was doing these days you'd probably laugh. My life mainly consists of living in my apartment._

_I hope you're doing okay wherever you are, enjoying yourself. Well, I suppose I'll wrap this up. Goodnight._

_-Amy_

And then when I set down that letter and folded it into an envelope, the pain multiplied ten times, the pain that I'd been trying to block out for the past year. Everything came down on me all at once, and I looked around where I was. Not only physically, but also where I was in my life.

I was sitting in my apartment, writing a letter to someone who'd been gone for over a year despite my letters. In simpler words, I was alone and was only living for my son. My life was going nowhere, and I couldn't see much of a future for myself.

And so I just broke down crying right there. I bawled into my hands, tears dripping down on the table, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to feel something again other than this pain, but every time I almost felt something else it didn't make a difference anyway.

I just wanted to live again.

* * *

I hope you liked this chapter. Did anyone realize that "Allen" is the name of the actor who plays Henry? _:D_

So what'd you all think of this chapter? Do you think Adrian and Amy will end up going to Boston?


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